


little marriage moments

by lameafpun



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, this is basically an extended shitpost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: little scenarios of the stardew valley marriages i haven't been able to stop thinking about.
Relationships: Elliott (Stardew Valley)/Reader, Elliott/Player (Stardew Valley), Emily (Stardew Valley)/Reader, Emily/Player (Stardew Valley), Leah (Stardew Valley)/Reader, Shane (Stardew Valley)/Reader, Shane/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 112





	1. bathroom? more like (uh) bath no-room amiright (Shane)

“Hey, do you think I should shave?” Shane examines his scruff in the mirror propped against the wall. You should probably have Robin come by and secure it at some point so it doesn't fall and squish anyone . . .

“Where? We don’t have a bathroom.”

“Oh. Right.”

“CURSE YOU PIERRE!”

“Sweetheart?”

“Sorry, force of habit.” You clear your throat. "CURSE YOU ROBIN!"


	2. henny devito (Shane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't even tell me this didn't pop into your head if he's ever gifted this to you

“G’morning babe!” You smile at Shane and open your arms to envelope him in a hug, a reflex. 

He holds a hand to your arms, effectively cockblocking the hug. 

“Sh-shane?" What the fuck _I can't believe you've done this_ "Why would you do this to me?” 

His poker face is as strong as iridium. “I’m sorry." He raises his hand, a large egg snug in his palm. "Could I offer you an egg in this trying time?” 

The strength of the meme nearly knocks you backward. “Yoba, I’m so glad I married you."


	3. poultry? in this economy? (Shane)

“Shane?” 

He didn’t answer you. Ooh, his back was to you and he was “asleep” but you could tell. His shoulders were too tense and he usually slept on his back. Those real crime podcasts had _prepared_ you and motherfucker, you had evidence.

BA-GAWK

Your eyes narrow. “Shane.” 

Charlie looks at you. Fuck, you can’t hate an innocent chicken but. Germies. 

“Baby I swear, I will — “ You glance at the chicken, who has taken up residence on your husband’s head. Don’t let the cuteness get to you. Don’t let it. “I-I’ll use that weird smelling detergent from Pierre’s for the week if you don’t —“ 

“No no no!” Charlie squawks at her perch being disturbed and Shane soothes her with a hand, smoothing her ruffled feathers on autopilot. “I mean uhhhhh.” 

Your folded arms speak volumes, as does the raised eyebrow. 

“Have you heard there’s health benefits to sleeping with your pets?”


	4. seeded buns do not grow well (Shane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im sorry but also not sorry at all

“SHANE!” 

“HONEY?” 

Don’t shove the test in his face, it’s gross, don’t do it, resist the excitement “THE SEED IS STRONG!” 

“What? Sweetheart, I think Game of — WHAT?” 

“YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD!” 

His mouth hung open and he stood there, shellshocked. You half expect the plate of pizza to fall to the floor. It slides around the plate, still steamy from the brief stint in the microwave but you can also spot the little ice shards in the center. 

Stupid cheap microwave. 

Shane sinks into the dining chair, looking caught between wanting to sink his head in his hands or settling to stare at the dish cabinet. “Who let this happen?”


	5. luv tht nut juice (Shane)

The cup trembles in your grip, the sloshing coffee toeing that line between the rim and open air. Coffee farming hadn’t really taken a place at the farm until you’d taken a chance on a one thousand (one thousand) g seed and boy, had that been a worthy investment. 

You take another sip from the cup Emily had sent you. She’d gotten into pottery and other crafts lately and this one was larger than your average human head. It could hold an entire keg of coffee with a few centimeters to spare. An impressive feat. Magical, one could say, considering the keg was the side of Butterbean (your horse). 

Ooh, thoughts were racing through your head ( _whydon’tIpaytaxesonthehousewhere’sourbathroom howdothevalleygirlsgetthroughbirthwithoutanepidural_ ). That wasn’t good. 

Your feet are blurring underneath you and the beep of the wristwatch just manages to penetrate through the blood that’s more caffeine at this point rushing through your veins. That means it’s one in the morning. That isn’t good; you’ll be damned before Joja-fucking-mart picks you up just outside your door and demands payment for shoving you in bed. One thousand gold. One. Thousand. 

A wonderful oak door is fast approaching. Your watch beeps again. 

One thirty. 

Fcuk. 

You chug another few gulps of coffee. Half of the cup goes down your shirt and you thank Yoba it chilled hours ago (you can practically feel your pupils expanding). 

Oo, the door is still rocketing toward you. 

“Uh-ohhhhhHHHHAAAAAAAAA!” Screaming at your feet to stop doesn’t help and so instead you brace for impact. 

You wake up. Your watch is beeping, telling you it’s six in the morning as it does and every beep drills a deeper hole in your brain, slowly edging its way deeper into a migraine. A pathetic groan leaks from you as you stuff your face underneath a pillow. 

“Sweetheart?” Even the slight murmur hurts and you whimper. The warmth, though, of a hug is very welcome and you lean into it as best you can. 

“Never get high on your own supply.” Except it comes out more as “N’r t hhh n on sp.” The hug stretches on, made even nicer by a hand combing gently through your hair. 

“Want some microwave pizza?” 

Sun rays get a little in your eyes as you turn your head so you squint like the goblin you are. “How dare.” 

He snorts and leans down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “Two minutes.” 

The bed shifts as he gets up, slowly expanding in Shane’s absence. It’s an old mattress. Still comfortable, but old. You lay there, dangling on that hook of sleep. 

The smell of pizza tugs you back and a smile you can’t entirely control slips onto your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coffee=nut juice. sorta. it's nut water, at least. is coffee a nut????


	6. ilubiaegslub (Elliot)

Elliot stumbled out of the Stardrop Saloon, clutching a ukulele to his chest and a bottle of beer by its neck. Today was the day. Technically, tonight was the day — or, well, the sun had already set and —

Fuck, he was drunk off his ass. Courage had come flowing a bit too readily and Gus, who had been subject to his rants detailing his feelings of inadequacy when it came to love, had been all too happy to keep it that way. Magnanimous as he was there was only so much alcohol you could throw at a problem before it all just looped back around and courage became stupidity. Or. Something.

He nearly tripped over a tree root; the bus station swam before his eyes.

_Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up._

The chant kept him going up until the entrance to the farmer’s property where he had to stop and dry heave for a couple of seconds. Minutes. Uh. Hm.

Time got weird when the world moved too slowly around him.

Oo, that was a good line. Something to use in his book, maybe.

That thought was shelved for a later time. In the here and now was where he had to focus his energy (most of it on not throwing up and getting to the patio with his ukulele — the instrument of his love — in one piece).

The steps were a formidable foe, but he managed to brave the four of them and knock on the door. An invaluable mint he had left in his pocket at some point in the past (thanks, past Elliot) later, the door opened and there you were. Bleary eyed and wearing only a shirt that looked oddly familiar, yes, but you looked like Yoba herself had sculpted you out of the most valuable material known to man: shards.

“Elliot? It’s eleven at night —“

With a mighty strum of his ukulele with surprisingly sure fingers, Elliot sang.

“I love you biiiiiitch. I - “ He hiccuped. “I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you . . . bitch.”

The song finished, he dropped his arms to his sides and swayed dangerously.

“Baby.” You sighed, not quite managing to squash your smile. “Baby, come inside.”

Leading him back to bed wasn’t hard. Making him let go of the ukulele, however, was an impossible task and you resigned yourself to waking up with imprints of ukulele strings on your back.

After finagling the shoes off his feet you settle into bed, pressing a kiss to Elliot’s forehead as you flicked the lamp off.

“I love you too.” And then, an after thought. “M gonna havta thank Gus for holding on to the pendant again.”

-

(earlier)

“Gus I love ‘em so muuuuuuch.” Elliot moaned, face down on the bar. Leah giggled as Gus dried off a glass with a rag bartender style, his “tell me everything” attitude very much in place. “How c’n I tell ‘em I love em so much?”

“A song? You do have a way with words, Elliot.”

And like that it was like the sun came out from behind a cloud. His eyes shined.

“Could I borrow your uke?”

(In the background Leah blushed and locked eyes with Emily. A pact of secrecy was formed.)


	7. nutritious (Shane)

The little boxy TV with their talking heads blare voices interspersed with static. Stardew Valley still did not have the best service, though you had talked with Maru to get a better satellite using some invention of hers.

“ _Now, a lot of things have happened this week and we’re gonna talk about it so grab a snack_ —“

“SHANE!”

His head pops through the bedroom doorway, an egg in his hand. “Yeah?”

You pat the space next to you on the bed. “Need you.”

He’s halfway to the bed before he yawns and asks: “For what? You need a glass of water or something?”

The bed dips under his weight as he settles next to you. Your arm instantly wraps around his middle even as the talk show continues to play and the heads laugh.

“Nah, I needed a snack.”

His egg is already peeled and dipped in hot sauce. The staring contest between the two goes unnoticed by you, as does the decision he comes to; his mouth is set in a line. “You want this egg?”

“No. You’re the snacc.”


	8. 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆 (Emily)

“Oo, you’re a fat one aren’t ya? Big ol’ eggies with a whole lotta purple.” You crooned to the eggplants, a habit you’d picked up at . . . some point. Honestly, you can’t remember if this was something you’d always done or if you’d just been driven to after reaching a certain level of crazy in the face of isolation on the farm. “You, ma’am, look a lil bit too sickly for me. Eugh, I’m gonna hafta check for bugs n stuff.”

Bean snuffled at your knees. The cold nose against your skin prompted a shiver.

“You gotta cooolld nose dontcha, Bean? Kidney bean, green bean, bean pot — oo I could prolly cook one a those. Not outta you guys, though, ya’ll are eggplants and would not make a good bean pot, no sir.”

“Sweetheart?”

You almost dropped your watering can. “Emily!”

She stood behind you, boots muddy and arms akimbo.

“You talking to Jen and the boys?”

“Who?”

She nodded to the eggplants, a flash of blue as her hair swished in front of her face.

“Oh. Yeah. Jen and the boys are doing pretty well.” You nodded to the plants as she came to stand next to you. A moment of silence was held in place, a little bubble of nature sounds as you both just surveyed the entirety of the farm. It had taken years, but it was perfect now. Grandpa would’ve been proud.

“Aw man, I’m gonna be sad when harvest comes now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lesson to this, kids, is don't humanize your veggies


	9. amateur nature sanctuary (Leah)

“Sweetheart!” The entire frame of the house shook as the door was kicked in, the sole of your boot fitting neatly into the dusty print on the front. “Look at all this nature I’m gonna bring into our home!”

Leah, somewhat concerned, turned around on her stool, chisel in hand.

You plonked the bulky glass case in your arms down next to her with a smile.

“A butterfly hutch?”   
“Yeah!” You beamed. “They’re pretty, nature-y, and since we keep the fireplace on year round the house will be an okay environment for them!”

In your enthusiasm about everything butterfly and nature-y you explain with flourishes that knock the little door of the hutch open.

Butterflies aren’t a fast creature but you think the lady that sold them might have given them some sort of special food (or maybe a special breed - she had said that they don’t require food and that seems concerning all by itself) because they come cascading out of the hutch like a stream of rainbow water. It must have bigger on the inside or something.

Quickly, you try and shut the little door but it’s like trying to put a genie back in its bottle. “no dON’T LET THEM ESCAPE!”

A roiling wave of tropical wings buffet the two of you. “Wha—“

It takes no time at all until the hutch drains and you’re left with a little glass container that doesn’t look like it could contain the sheer amount of butterflies that came pouring out. Every surface in your house is covered in butterflies and you’re hesitant to take a step in any direction for fear of accidentally smushing a poor little butterfly.

“Well,” Leah sighs. “I guess we’re a butterfly sanctuary now.”

“I’m okay with that. You think we could train em to organize in patterns? That’d be — ait, no, Walnut, don’t eat those!”


	10. minty winter (Shane)

Cliche. You’re rolling in it. A couple holed up for winter and decide to get it on? You’re more than sure that this is probably the plot to at least a substantial amount of smut novels. You’ve probably read a lot of them, too. Still . . . there is a reason that those smutty stories got so much traction. Right?

“Baby. Sweetheart. Hubby. Love muffin. Uhhhhh — honeypot? Beer-battered cat fish with fries? My spicy little pepper popper?”

“Urgh, what?” Shane’s sleepy mumble brings a smile to your face.

“That’s what you respond to? Actually, I prolly shoulda expected that.” He grumbles, sliding back into sleep and you shake him. “Nonono — spicy little pepper popper, I’m coooold.”

He rolls over to face you. Compared to your pajamas, which consist of flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt, both of which are a little too threadbare for winter comforts, he looks pretty cozy in his fleece sweats and worn sweatshirt. “Blankets in blanket chest.”

Your mouth twists and you nearly roll your eyes before you remember yourself and flutter your eyelashes instead. “I was thinking instead . . . maybe you could warm me up?” You’re tempted to ask if the eyelash fluttering is doing anything for him.

Shane yawns. A big, minty, open mouthed yawn that lets you see way back into his mouth, all the way to the little dangly pink thing that got yanked on in Monster House. Does Pelican Town have a Blockbuster?

“Woah, I can only get _so_ erect.”

He snorts and pulls you into a nice, warm cuddle.

“This is warm too, I guess.” You say begrudgingly, snaking your arms around his middle. He smells like spicy omelet and hay. “Love you.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Love you, too.”

Oh, shit. You bury your lovestruck face into his chest, muffling the giggles you still get whenever you hear that. He just gives your heart such a love boner, it’s crazy.

He’s already snoring a little.

Heart boner. Getting more and more. TURGID!


End file.
